Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

19.1 Human

I ignore the ticking of the broken clock. Every fibre of my consciousness repels that thought. And the one after that and the one after that and the one after that. The screaming starts up again, the volume turning up until it fills my entire body. Finley's voice tears at my consciousness to hold back but I am way past that. I am a screaming ball of rebellion against everything Huntsmen and so I fly out the door.

I shove the wattle tree aside and dash past all the cottages in a stream of red panic. I take every sentiment the head-Finley utters and throw it out behind me, fuelled by the liquid rage of attempted coercion. I'm moving like a blur past a Huntsmen on the street but beyond them the corridor stretches and my vision flashes black and red.

I push past them onto an open path and whirl for a moment, a lost compass. The Huntsmen's buildings, the hulking academy and off over the rooftops... a canopy. Yes the gardens. I flee towards them, a crazy girl wearing a ribboned shirt and white cork sandals, trying to feel the humanity of my feet pounding the gravel.

The screaming rage begins to clear as I enter the haze of greenery. The grass is cool and wet, the dirt sticking to the soles of my shoes. My lungs ache as I suck in breath. The same ache as has always been there. Nothing has really changed. I go to that place again, the edge of the plateau, where the lush and desert and sky all meet. It feels right, like the only place I can feel free whilst still so trapped.

I reach the edge, the starlit sky, the expansive darkness. I let the sound outside then, screaming all hell to the winds, letting it drain away into something far, far bigger than myself. I crouch on the edge, sobbing silently into my hands.

I am still human, I sob to the land and sky, Warrior Mage be damned. Tracing the glow on my arm, so alien, I start unravelling the last bit of panic from my chest.

I put this here. I remind myself. I have control. Because I am a human and a fighter and whatever happened with Finley doesn't matter. No. I know what matters and I'll do the right thing.

I start to notice the outside world once more. And that's when a notice a silhouette on the cliff below me. Sitting on a ledge, looking out at the plain before us. It looks up at me and I see short hair but little else.

"Can't sleep?" The figure asks. And to my surprise it's not a stranger. It's Darcell.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, fully intending to kick rocks down on him for following me like a fricking stalker...

He sighs and uncovers a torch to reveal a scatter of papers held down by rocks about the ledge. "I was clearly here first."

Huh. What are the chances I run into him out here again?

"What is it that's got you so worked up, if I may ask?" He says.

"Nothing. I just..." I break off and focus on the stars, before the screaming decides begins anew.

"Scream at the sky on a regular basis?" He asks. I wince, remembering the racket I'd made but he continues nonchalantly. "I do find it clears my head somewhat, I'll give you that."

"You do it too?" I ask, trying to come off as quirky rather than crazy.

He shakes his head. "Nah. You've seen my regular stress relievers. Knife throwing and a bit of exploratory sleuthing. I'm out here for the fresh air."

I don't blame him, thinking of the stuffy gothic place he appears to live in.

"Do you wanna come down? I have hot chocolate."

I contemplate the suggestion. It's not the worst idea... I'm not supposed to be seen with Darcell but... I doubt I'll be sleeping anytime soon. I pick my way down the cliff edge, the climb requiring a surprising amount of dexterity. That in and of itself distracts me from my screaming inner demon.

He passes me the thermos lid, half-filled with hot chocolate. It's warm, not that we need the heat, being still within the weather shield's tropical zone.

"You seem to have a lot on your plate." He observes. I hug the cup closer to my chest, retreating slightly. And then I think. Do I need to? Do I have to be afraid, even here at the edge of the world?

So I crack the cone of silence.

"You know how you wanted to test me for Huntsmen talents?"

"Mhm."

"I don't think I wanna be a Huntsmen."

He nods pensively. "I don't think you wanna be either."

I snort, "Well duh, I just said that."

He catches up to my humour and chuckles. "Just thought you might want that outside perspective. But that's okay. You can be what you wanna be."

I swap my amusement out for seriousness again.

"What if I can't, though." I whisper, "What if I'm something I hate."

He rolls forward, a hand coming to rest meaningfully on my knee. "You've got to be yourself first. Species comes second."

He winks. "Besides, you could be half-pixie. Then the council will really have trouble on their hands."

I chuckle at that. I imagine myself a tiny blue pixie like the ones from a movie I'd seen once, swarming around Josef's head with a tiny spear.

Darcell leans back, eyes searching the stars for big answers. "I think we should have a team name. How about the midnight marauders?"

I start from my own thoughts, another fragment of the movies resurfacing in my consciousness. "You don't happen to have a map do you?"

"I do in fact." He says and dislodges a piece of paper. He holds it out to me with a wicked little grin.

"Do you solemnly swear that you are-"

"Oh stop it, you" I interrupt, snatching the map. "Let's not start mixing fact and fiction."

It hurts a little bit more this time, slamming shut the door to human things. But I've seen what it does to the fencers, to little Tanya holding onto her book. A false reality, a false escape, a false release from suffering.

"I think it's time for me to go," I say, a yawn catching up with me. Maybe when I sleep I can remember.

But I don't dream of home this time. No. When my head finally hits the pillow, on the garish orange sofa, I dream only of Huntsmen.